Bomber Evans would have preferred to be sandwiched between Mick Martin and Glen Jakovich than fighting his way through the journalists and photographers who jammed the sandstone staircase outside the Supreme Court.

"Get out of our way, you pests," the Essendon President growled, still fuming at the treatment Evans had received in the newspapers. "It’s a bloody circus," he complained to his QC Ponsford, who steered them to a corridor that led to the barristers’ Robing Room (their version of a players’ change rooms), where the press pack were prohibited.

"They don’t call me Houdini for nothing," he quipped, and ushered the men to the safety of a waiting area.

A few minutes later his opposing QC, Lawrence Martin, entered the Robing Room. "Well Harry, I think you’ll be buying the drinks this time."

"Ah, Larry, a pleasure to see you as always," Ponsford replied." He knew that Martin hated to be called Larry. "And I’ll have a Pernod and ice, thanks." It was all bravado. His groundwork had convinced him the law was not on their side. "This time I know we’re on a winner," he lied.

Twenty minutes later they had assembled in the courtroom…